


To Deceive an Angel's Eyes

by Itsuey



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-02
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsuey/pseuds/Itsuey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>F1 Slash Kink Prompt; "Before Seb was WDC he used to self harm and now he confesses to Tommi that he needs help to stop"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for potentially triggering descriptions of self harm
> 
> WIP, rather in need of a tweak, but it needs finishing first.

Dark red lines, all perfectly spaced and measured by a hand not aware of what the brain was doing, by desperation and pain and hurt, marred his pale skin in places no one would see. He ran a finger along the shreaded skin of his shoulder, unable to count the number of scabs and scars below they were so numerous and so close. Every rib had a collection to call its own and his hip bones shimmered pearly white from the old abuse they had suffered. Hundreds of times he had taken blades to his skin, hundreds of times he had used it to survive, to temper his moods so he wouldn't say something he shouldn't... He glanced down at his ankle where the newest wounds were still healing sluggishly, the ones he did half an hour before the race to keep a clear mind, the ones he had aggrivated all through the race, rubbing against his fireproof suit and bleeding through the material he had thrown in the bath tub the moment he got back to hide his secret. And all for what?

The trophy sparkled innocently under the light as it lay on his almost pristine bedspread, half sunk into the soft mattress. All that stress and strain for a trophy, for a title which would put more pressure on his next year, would make him worse. One day he'd make a mistake, but for now he was in control enough, for now he could hide it. 

The blade was dull next to the gleaming trophy as he sat on the bed next to it, a cheap pencil sharpener blade stained with blood around the edges, another one he would dispose of before leaving this place, just as he had done at every grand prix for years. The sharp sting of the first contact with his skin made him jump as he drew it fast along the top of his thigh, over the top of old wounds, before he lost himself in the familiar comforting feeling, each measured cut making him feel more alive, more in control, more-

"Seb!"

His head jerked up to see Tommi standing before him, one hand still on the door which he slammed shut and almost ran the couple of steps to stand beside the bed, tearing the blade from Sebastian's fingers.

"What were you thinking?" 

Sebastian could feel his trainer's eyes on him, but couldn't meet his glare, instead he looked down at the sluggish trails of blood tracking their way down the side of his hip and thigh, taking in the way the cuts became more and more shallow as they went down this leg but more and more uncontrolled and violent, no longer aligned and perfect but desperate and wild.

"Seb? Talk to me?"

The tears which had been welling in his eyes finally broke through the facade of happiness he had been exuding all night and he threw himself into Tommi's arms, burying his face in the champagne scented shirt collar.

"Help me," he whispered through the tears choking him. "Please, help me."


	2. Chapter 1

The winter testing season had gone exactly to plan; the new tyres were working well, his chassis was perfectly balanced and the car was magnificent, even his relationship with Mark was improving, he was the happiest he had been in a while and he knew Tommi was the one responsible for that. And right now he was well on his way to a perfect start to the 2011 season as he rounded the last corner of the Bahrain track and floored the throttle, putting everything into it as he zoomed down the home straight and into P1, a tenth of a second ahead of his teammate, and he'd got the first pole of the season! Wooping with joy he made his way back to the pits, a huge grin on his face which only increased when he discovered he'd broken Alonso's record the year before by half a second. 

Tommi was the one who received his biggest smiles though, after all, he was the only one who knew how far Sebastian had come in those few months, how much of a step he'd made towards his complete recovery. 

“How do you feel?” He asked as they stepped into the motorhome together, away from the prying eyes of fellow drivers and the perked ears of the hundreds of journalists that surrounded them on all side. 

“Fantastic!” Sebastian grinned, eyes sparkling brightly, the familiar spring in his step once more.

They shared the small bottle of vodka from the mini-bar before Tommi left Sebastian to his own devices, smiling at his driver spread eagle on the rumpled duvet, giggling at the ceiling. He closed the door softly and made his way back to his own room, a small smile clinging to his lips as he realised every time Sebastian smiled at him he lost a little bit of his heart to the younger man, and soon he wouldn't have any left to call his own. 

**  
The race was perfect, pole to P1, a tremendous celebration afterwards as the team congratulated each other on a 1-2 finish to start the season. Sebastian was ecstatic as Tommi watched him from the shadows, hiding from the champagne which was being liberally sprayed over anyone in RBR colours and then anyone who happened to be in the general vicinity too.

After the second race the Finn was sure that Sebastian's prayers had been answered as he made another perfect pole to podium finish, this time with Fernando and Jenson either side of him and Mark in 4th. Once again Tommi found himself with an armful of gorgeous tipsy German who laughed in his ears and tickled his sides as he tried to take him up to his hotel room instead of allowing himself to be pulled into a heap on the floor with the other blonde.

Unlocking the door to the younger man's room proved a lot harder than it looked as Tommi tried to retreive the key card from the front pocket of Seb's jeans without trying to grope him, a feat made harder by Sebastian's insistent thrusts against his hand, but eventually they managed and the door was open and they fell into the room into the heap the younger man had tried so valiantly to construct in the hallway

Hands found belts and clothes were shed, flung in any direction they could reach as they ground against one another, writhing together on the plush hotel carpet, Sebastian digging his nails into Tommi's shoulders as he thrust his hips up into the warmth of the other man's. Neither lasted long, and soon cries of completion filled the air and they collapsed together, limbs coiled around one another so that it might be impossible to tell where one ended and the other began, but Tommi's hands were not still, they ghosted across Seb's skin, following the scars across his shoulders and collar bones, down over his ribs to rest on his hips, fingers hovering above the more recent scars on the younger man's thighs, the ones he had been witness to a few months ago. 

“You saved me Tommi,” Sebastian whispered to him, tangling his own fingers into the Finn's hair. “You saved me. Like my own personal angel.”

The kiss that followed was chaste and soft, but it was enough for both men, visibly exhausted mentally and physically, and Tommi reached over to the sofa and pulled the throw from it, spreading it over the pair of them before they slid into a contented deep sleep, neither willing to leave the safe embrace to move to the bed.


	3. Chapter 2

In Mayalsia he only managed P2, but he still took great delight in spraying Mark with champagne as the older man stood above him on the top step of the podium and giggled with joy as the pair of them turned on Christian who came to congratulate them, Sebastian holding him still while Mark poured the bubbly liquid down the back of their boss' shirt. 

They met in the motorhome, Sebastian on the way to get changed out of his champagne soaked overalls and Tommi wandering aimlessly half heartedly looking for the younger man to congratulate him on his performance in the race. It was by chance, or perhaps by fate that they met in a deserted coridoor, Sebastian spotting his trainer first and running up behind the Finn, leaping onto him and sending the pair of them into a heap on the floor. 

Once again Tommi found himself beneath the excitable German, their lips meeting halfway and hands tugging at clothes before he realised just where they were and how vulnerable a position they were in. 

“Seb,” he panted, grabbing hold of the younger man's hand which was fighting with his belt. “Not here, bedroom!”

There was no bedroom nearby, but Sebastian dragged the Finn into a small hospitality room, locking the door behind him and pushing Tommi backwards onto the sofa in the middle of the room. Clothes flew everywhere as Sebastian fell upon his trainer, hands returning to the battle with his belt, struggling to undress him as Tommi tried to return the favour. Eventually there were no more barriers between them and skin met skin, sliding silkily and smooth against each other as the younger German shifted to straddle Tommi, thrusting his hips downwards as he leaned over the edge of the sofa to drag his jeans towards him, fumbling with them to retreive a small tube of lubricant he had stashed there earlier. 

He pulled the lid off with his teeth, hand resting on Tommi's chest to hold himself steady as he squeazed the slippery liquid onto his fingers, dripping some onto the man beneath him but he couldn't bring himself to care as he reached back and circled a finger around his hole, relaxing around the sensation which had become so familiar to him recently. Two fingers slid in quickly and he cried out softly, relishing the burn of the muscle stretching, scissoring them, opening himself just enough that he wouldn't injure himself. Tommi shifted below him and he pulled his fingers from himself, keening at the loss and rubbed the excess lubricant onto the older man's hard cock before shuffling backwards and pressing his arse back against him. 

Tommi groaned as he felt Sebastian's arse brush over the head of his cock and held himself steady as the younger man lowered himself down, letting out a strangled moan as his body gave way and he sank down into the cradle of the other man's hips, letting the burn of stretched muscle wash over him as he dug his nails into the body below him. A shudder passed through him and he began to move, rocking back and forth, basking in the wonderful feeling of being filled, of being owned, until he felt Tommi's hands on his hips, holding him still as the other man thrust upwards into him, slamming into his prostate. He screamed and grabbed for purchase on Tommi's smooth chest, holding on as his body was used brutally, Tommi seeming to know exactly what he wanted, what he needed as he thrust as hard as his position would allow. 

With a strangled growl, Tommi grabbed hold of Sebastian's shoulders and pushed the younger man off him, shoving himself off the sofa and rearranging them until he had the German's hips in his hands again, his head burried in the cushions as the Finn pushed inside him again.

Seb screamed into the sofa, unable to control himself now that Tommi's thrusts were slamming into his prostate with every increasing accuracy, nails tracing the scars on his hips reminding him that he owed his man his life. The subtle coil of arousal in his belly was rising, quickly, drowning out everything else but the need for release. He thrust back against Tommi, encouraging the older man deeper, harder, faster, closer and closer and Tommi was sinking his teeth into his neck, spread over his back as he came inside him and Sebastian snapped, vision blanking out for a second as his orgasm was ripped from him by Tommi's hand.

Sebastian watched through hooded eyes as Tommi rearranged him on the sofa and looked around for some tissues to clean up the evidence of their coupling. Nothing could be more perfect, he thought, eyes sliding shut as bliss envoloped him, nothing could go wrong now.


	4. Chapter 3

Mark was ahead of him again, not so far it would be impossible to catch up with him, but just far enough that he wasn't allowed to try and overtake. Rocky's disembodied voice came over the radio, conserve the fuel, he had said, don't try and catch Webber, but he wanted to, he was the world champion, not Mark, how was he meant to win if Mark was ahead of him? He could take him on this next corner, Mark was slowing down, if he just held on a bit longer, braked a little later he could take him on turn 14...

He watched almost in slow motion as Mark made it out out of the speed trap and gracefully around the corner ahead of him. Sebastian braked and turned to follow but he was too late. The car slid sideways and he flinched as Fernando passed him, still focussed on the flash of red so he missed the Lotus he had just overtaken slam into his tail, knocking the car into the path of the eager Mexican it had been trying to avoid. Sergio's front wing smashed into the side of the cockpit, sliding them both across the gravel several feet as the carbon fibre shattered around them like the spray from a stone dropped in a puddle. 

“Sebastian? You alright?”

Seb ignored his engineer, pulling the steering wheel off its mountings and hauling himself from the car, not bothering to reconnect it, leaving it on the seat as he stalked towards the barriers, tearing his helmet off. He could hear Sergio's yelled appology but he wasn't going to acknowledge it, instead choosing to leap over the wall and walk slowly back to the pits, head hung and wishing he had kept his helmet on when the flash of cameras began to assault his eyes. A hand on his back startled him slightly and he looked up to see Jarno walking beside him.

“Are you alright?” He asked after a few mintues, the pair having synchronised themselves to Jarno's slightly shorter strides. 

Seb sighed. “I knew it couldn't last, there's always something has to go wrong. This time it was me.”

“No one's perfect Sebastian, don't think you have to be.” 

**

It was several hours later that Sebastian found himself outside Jarno's room, having dragged the number from Heikki with vodka and promices of future favours. He hadn't been able to settle knowing that it was his fault he had crashed, but he hadn't been able to deal with it either. He'd sat in the shower for almost an hour, turning the pencil sharpener blade over and over in his fingers, knowing he couldn't use it, Tommi would realise and he would tell Christian who would send him to a psychiatrist and the FIA would declare him unfit to race- He stopped the train of thought before it could go too far, his breath already laboured under the threat of what might happen. 

He hoped he had read Jarno's personality correctly, thinking that he would do this for him as an appology for crashing into him, even though he had offered none earlier, knowing there was nothing he could have done. Perhaps he would offer it as comfort, maybe. 

He knocked before nerves got the better of him.

It seemed an age before the door opened and Jarno stood before him, dressed in pyjama pants and a loose t-shirt, a towel draped around his shoulders catching the drips from his wet hair. He raised an eyebrow, obviously not expecting to see the younger man there, but invited him in anyway, closing the door softly behind him. They regarded each other silently, until the quiet became so unnerving that Sebastian had to say something, anything to break it. 

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out, surprising even himself.

“What for?” Jarno asked, removing the damp towel to rub his hair dry. “You didn't deliberatley get in my way, if anyone's to blame for me crashing it's Perez.”

“For coming here.”

“If I didn't want you here I wouldn't have let you in kid.”

“'m not a kid,” he muttered sulkily, looking down at his feet.

Jarno chuckled and tossed the towel onto the sofa, “you have a remarkable ability to act like one sometimes.”

Before he really knew what he was doing, he had crossed the few feet between him them and pressed his lips to the Italian's, hoping he was conveying his desperation in the motion. 

“Sebastian?”

Seb clung to the shorter man as he tried to pull away. “Please,” he whispered. 

“What about-”

“Tommi wouldn't understand.”

Jarno hesitated and Seb could see him fighting with himself, could see the moment he made up his mind. 

“Strip.”

Sebastian jumped to obey, releasing the older man's wrists to pull the t-shirt over his head and quickly undo his jeans, kicking them away having forgone underwear. He bent over the arm of the sofa that Jarno pointed at before vanishing into the bathroom briefly. Leant over the furniture he couldn't see the bathroom door so he didn't know when Jarno had returned, his bare feet making no sound on the soft carpet of the upmarket hotel room. The only warning he had was a hand between his shoulderblades shoving him further into the the cushions, reminding him of his last time with Tommi, until Jarno's hands were on him again, forcing his legs apart and pressing a lubricated finger against his entrance. 

He whined as the finger slid inside him, made relatively easy by the familiarity of the intrusion, the two that followed however were rougher, stretching him swiftly, almost painfully as they avoided his prostate, intent on opening him up and nothing further. They were removed swiftly and he clenched his teeth as Jarno pushed inside him slowly, forcing his muscles apart, hampered by the relativley small amount of lube he had used. The Italian's weight on his hips and lower back was almost a comfort as he paused to allow the younger man's body to accustom itself to the intrusion. 

Jarno ignored the thrusts, content to hold the German still and make him suffer, using the moment to admire the curve of the man's spine, almost gasping as his eyes found the array of scars down his legs, wondering how no one had noticed before they got this bad. He remembered seeing similar scars on so many of his friends, all driven to desperation by the nature of their sport, but none so extensivley as this. He wanted to hold the young champion in his arms and comfort him, tell him everything would be alright, but he also knew that wasn't what he needed, what he needed was to be punished, to be forgiven for his sins, no matter whether they are real or not. 

Sebastian whimpered as Jarno withdrew slowly, then let out a scream which he tried to muffle in the cushions as he slammed back in, hitting his prostate dead on and sending sharp bolts of pain up his spine, his body not quite adjusted to the intrusion. Hands on his hips held him still as the older man repeated his actions, nails digging into his skin, breaking the delicate tissue as he thrust into him again and again, ignoring the younger man's needs in favour of his own pleasure. 

It was only afterwards as Seb lay panting on the sofa the correct way up, the towel Jarno had swiftly shoved beneath him to stop him staining the sofa on the floor, that he wondered how he had known about Tommi, but then he suspected he hadn't been especially discreet about it all.

“Stop thinking,” Jarno muttered from where he was sitting on the floor, head leant back against the sofa, as exhausted as Sebastian.

Eventually he muttered his thanks to the older man and extracted himself from the comfortable cushions, wincing as pain shot up his spine, and collected his clothes, returning slowly to his own room, thankful that they were on the same floor so he didn't have to walk up the stairs. After a fight with the electronic door lock which he had always hated he let himself in and collapsed onto the bed, grateful that he had three weeks until the next GP.


	5. Chapter 4

Three weeks later found Sebastian in Turkey, sitting at a picnic table in the park with Tommi, discussing their new training regime. Seb shifted slightly on the wooden seat and winced as his arse came into contract with the unforgiving surface causing Tommi to laugh at him, downing the last of his glass of coke.

“You asked for it, you can't really blame me because you can't sit down now.”

The young German stuck out his tongue and fiddled with his can of Red Bull, digging his nails into the blue metal. “Tommi what is this?”

The Finn blinked in surprise, wondering what the question was referring to. 

“This relationship, what is it?”

“I- I don't know Seb.”

He sighed, knowing this was all he was going to get from the older man and returned to his drink, ignoring the now akward silence, wondering what he wanted from their perculiar partnership. 

**

Third. Stuck behind Alonso. But at least he was on the clean side of the grid, unlike Mark who had got P2 the day before under the dim Turkish sunlight. Beside him Felipe was having a last minute talk with his engineer which, to Sebastian at least, looked more like a lover's quarrel than a prep talk. With two minutes left until all personnel were barred, the Brazillian forced out a smile and pulled on his helmet before lowering himself into the car. Seb would have bet anything that beneath that gaily coloured helmet the older man was pouting for all he was worth. He laughed to himself at the thought and then jumped slightly as he heard Rocky's voice over the radio; be careful, reminding him to brake as he came out of the speed trap, something he'd been very bad at all weekend sofar and good luck. The radio bleeped off again and he raised his eyes to look at the lights. 

Green. 

Fernando's car jerked infront of him and he thought for a second the Spaniard had stalled, but then he regained control and pulled away from the line, just ahead of Mark. The warm up lap was uneventful for the most part, something he had done many times before, and he took the opportunity to see where Mark was braking into turn 12, almost crashing into the back of his team mate when he discovered he didn't have quite the same braking power as him but he didn't think anyone had noticed.

This was familiar; drive up to the line. Stop. Wait for Bruno who, as was to be expected to now, was at the back of the grid cursing the car they hadn't managed to improve much over the break. And wait for the red lights.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

This was the moment he stopped breathing, the moment his heart thretened to leap from his chest in anticipation, the lack of knowledge of how long it was until the green lights the horror of many drivers as they sat on tenterhooks-

Green!

Fernando lept away infront of him, revving high to prevent another stall and he followed, side by side with Mark as they zoomed away down the home straight heading for the first corner. There wasn't room for both of them to go around as they were and he gave way to the Australian, telling himself there were 58 laps, he didn't need to attack him this early on. 

The heat which had been uncomfortable before was so much worse in the close confines of his cockpit, trapped inside layers of fireproof and overalls and surrounded by heat generating engine parts, but he could deal with it, it was fine. 

20 laps passed in relative uneventfullness, the newer teams falling back behind the regular point scorers, the positions beginning to show which drivers were unused to such weather conditions. Buemi lost it coming out of the speed trap on lap 23, his heat addled brain unable to comprehend that he'd left it too late to brake and he slid sideways on the fake grass coming to a safe halt at the side of the track. Sebastian watched him on the screens he passed pull himself from the car and collapse against the barriers, ripping off his overalls and helmet and gulping frantically from the bottle of water one of the stewards passed him. Lewis was the next to go, his aggressive driving style not compatable with the disintegrating rubber and his left front tyre exploded soon after the pitstop call from his engineer. 

The slightly sharper Felipe was gaining on him fast on the long straights, the KERS working flawlessly for the smaller driver it seemed as the the red flash darted in and out of his mirrors through the winding curves, showing the young champion exactly why he was a Ferrari driver, even if he was the undisputed number 2. 

Sebastian pushed harder, giving everything the car had as he came out of turn 10 and down ths straight, trying to keep as much speed as possible into turn 11 and down to the speed trap, but Felipe was still behind him, the car more advanced and Mark was pitting after Fernando as he came around turn 13 and 14 onto the home straight. He braked too late at turn 1 and Felipe came around the inside, easily overtaking him to gain P1, gaining quite a lead before Sebastian had managed to correct his error. 

2 laps later Fernando overtook him, and a further 3 laps had Mark overtaking him into the 12th corner which he got wrong again.

33 laps down. 

Nico was behind him, the silver Mercedes glinting brightly in the overwhelming sunshine every time he caught sight of it, but he wasn't going to let him past, not when he'd already been overtaken by his team mate and both Ferraris. The pattern of accelerate, brake, accelerate, brake was coming easily to him now, gear 6 out of turn 8, up to 7 along the straight and back down to 3 for turn 9, 4 out of 10. Down the straight, 6, 7, brake. Twisting around the chicanes and out onto the straight to turn 1, Nico still behind him. Only the flash of silver wasn't just Nico, it was Jenson as well who was now alongside the young German, one either side of Sebastian and he didn't know which one to block-

Lap 34.

Brake for turn 1. He swerved to prevent Nico overtaking him and the car slid sideways slightly on the wearing out tyres, his tail flicking out to almost hit the McLaren close behind him and he braked hard as he came across the front, back end catching Sebastian's front wing as he tried to avoid Nico who braked too late behind him. Jenson vanished into the turns ahead as Seb and Nico turned hard away from one another, coming together in the middle of the track and narrowly avoiding Michael and Robert who slipped past either side of them. Nico rejoined the race, shaken but undamaged and Sebastian turned his car the right way around, hoping that wasn't part of his front wing which was laying on the astroturf where he had come to blows with Jenson. 

“Sebastian, you need to pit this lap, your tyres are going and your front wing is damaged.” 

**

Lap 40 came and went and he was in P 15 after his unplanned pit stop, stuck behind Kobayashi who was doing his very best to keep his position, but lost concentration at turn 4 and Sebastian sailed past him, almost envious as the Japanese man pulled himself from the cockpit while he was still stuck in the sweltering heat, the liquid in his water bottle rapidly diminishing. 

Lap 50. Up ahead Mark and Felipe were fighting it out for P2, Fernando a second and a half ahead in P1 and quite confident of staying there until the end of the race. Eight laps to go and he narrowly avoided crashing into a HRT car he was lapping as it swerved into his path. Seven laps. Six. Five; he almost missed the braking point on turn 12 again, cursing himself as he ran wide around turns 13 and 14 and almost lost his position to Jarno who was doing only slightly better concidering all the promices Lotus had of improving their car this year. Four laps to go. Three. Two. One -

Mark and Felipe came together as they entered the first corner; neither wanting to concede the place to the other and their wheels slammed into one another, front wings clashing as they skidded into the barriers on either side. Sebastian could see them cursing each other as he drove past under the yellow flag which had been hastily brought out. 

He crossed the line in P12, dripping with sweat and thoroughly pissed off, resisting the urge to stomp off to his motorhome the moment he parked up. Instead he followed the usual protocol, managing not to glower at the scales which told him he'd lost 2 ½ kg since breakfast. 

**

Three hours later he was still fuming as the outside temperature dropped down to a more normal level and the crowds of fans had all but dispersed, quiet falling over the paddock once more, broken only by the occasional voice as someone walked past the motorhome window. He was fighting with a packet of instant noodles he knew he really shouldn't be eating when he realised he'd turned the wrong ring on, the front one burning hot as he stood next to it instead of the back one on which he'd placed the saucepan of water.

With a tut of frustration he turned on the correct ring, flicking the hot ring off and skittering away from the heat to renew his fight with the plastic wrapper. After a second he abandoned it, his eyes drawn back to the shimmering air around the hot ring. It was so very tempting, he could just lean against it, no one would be any the wiser, it would be easy to explain away. But he really shouldn't. Really really shouldn't... But it was there, and there was no one around to see... He glanced around furtivley, adjusting the rings to how they were before to make it look more accidental and reached out to grab the plastic saucepan handle. For a moment he let his arm hang there over the heat, feeling the hairs on his skin cringe away from the assault, but it would be so much better if-

He let out a strangled gasp as he touched his arm to the edge of the raised ring. The burst of pain through him was like nothing he'd ever felt with a blade, it was all encompassing, suffocating, he could drown in the horrendous, glorious sensation. It was over in less than a second, his animal instincts jerking his arm away from the hot metal and upsetting the pan, splashing water over the hob with a hiss. The skin was so red, so very red compared to his usual pale colouring and he could already tell it was going to blister. He should put it under cold water, but it was so tempting to stand there and let the aftershocks of pain ripple through him, cleansing him, forgiving him for a shit race-

“Sebastian?”

“Aah! Mark!”

“What did you do?”

“Nothing!” At Mark's raised eyebrow and disbelieving expressiong he raised his arm in what he hoped was a pathetic manner, showing the older man the wounded skin. 

“Stupid kid, how'd you manage that?”

“Turned the wrong ring on.” He muttered under his breath. “Only wanted stupid noodles.” 

In an uncharacteristic show of care, considering what they had been through last year, Mark pulled the younger man to the sink and put his arm under the cold water, holding it there until the burn had faded a bit before bandaging him up and sending him to bed with instructions to be more careful in future.


	6. Chapter 5

The bright Spanish sun shone down upon him, the heatwave from Turkey having followed them here, but even that could do nothing to lift his spirits as he sat glumly on the pit wall, wallowing in self pity. An early spark plug issue in practice 3 had morphed into a gearbox problem early on in qualifying which had him out of the session for most of it. He'd just about managed to limp through Q1, done one lap in Q2 and then lost first gear just before Q3 meaning he spent most of it in the pits. With only a handful of seconds left of qualifying he'd zoomed down the pit lane, gear box repaired just enough for a flying lap, and didn't quite make it to the line before the session was over. Swearing in every language he could think of he returned to the mechanics who told him, just to add insult to injury, he'd been given a penalty for speeding in the pit lane, but as he wouldn't be starting on the grid anyway, he couldn't see how this would affect him much.

Bernie Ecclestone patted him sympathetically on the shoulder when he told him the penalty would be moved to the next race instead. 

It was with a heavy heart that he returned to his motorhome, kicking whatever he could see along the way, pain blossoming in his foot with every step but it did nothing to ease his anger. Tommi met him on the doorstep and pulled him into a hug, wrapping himself around the taller man as he tried to demonstrate his sorrow without words. Eventually, however, Sebastian pushed him off and walked into the motorhome, going directly to his room and shutting his trainer out.

“It's out of your control,” he told himself, falling back into his mother tongue, shedding his clothes as he walked across the room to the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him and stepped into the shower. “There was nothing you could do,” but even to himself he didn't sound convincing. 

He turned on the water and turned his face upwards into the stream, letting the scalding water burn against his cheekbones and eyelids.

**

It was a strange conversation Tommi had with Mark, neither man having ever really spoken to one another before, but sitting together in the small kitchen of the temporary Red Bull home, worrying about Sebastian's mental state gave them something in common, even if it was something the Finn wished they didn't have.

“I know he's had bad luck before, but this is ridiculous,” Tommi said as he leaned his elbows on the table, clutching his cup of coffee tightly. “I'm surprised he hasn't had a more serious accident yet.” He jerked his head towards the hob in the corner of the kitchen.

Mark froze. 

“He hasn't, has he?” He watched as Mark seemed to flinch in slow motion, eyes flitting everywhere except for Tommi before settling on his own hands, clasped on the table top. At length he finally said;

“Have you ever noticed... marks on Sebastian? Ones that look like he might have done them himself?”

Tommi opened his mouth to reply, and then froze wondering if he should protect Seb or reveal what he knew to find out if Mark knew, but he was saved when the Australian kept speaking.

“That wasn't an accident,” he said quietly, jerking his head at the hob. “I watched him do it. Didn't realise what he was doing until afterwards. Since then I've noticed other things he does, like kicking walls when he's annoyed, digging his nails into his palms when he thinks no one's watching. And no shorts, he hasn't worn shorts in a while, even when the weather's really hot like it is here.”

An akward silence stretched between them, Mark lost in his own thoughts, Tommi wondering if he should tell Sebastian's teammate exactly what he promiced he wouldn't tell.

“I thought he'd stopped,” he eventually said, abandoning the cooling coffee for staring at a spot on the wall above Mark's head. “I caught him after Abu Dhabi last year, he promiced he'd stop. That's why we were never there during the winter break, I wanted him somewhere I could monitor him without him getting stressed. He told me the burn was an accident and that you'd patched him up and stupidly I believed him.”

“He went to see Jarno.”

“What?” 

Mark flinched at the sharp tone, unsure if he should continue with his suspicions, but unable to stop now he had started.

“After China, he went to see Jarno. He was gone about an hour, when he came back he was limping badly.”

“You think-”

Mark nodded.

**

The sun rose bright and cheerful on the Sunday morning, the crowds filled with fans screaming wildly for Alonso who waved to them as he walked past, stopping occasionally to sign an autograph and accept a kiss on the cheek. Sebastian listened from inside his room, the curtains drawn shut against the glare and his bed a rumpled mess as he sat on the end in just his boxer shorts. It wasn't a conscious decision, he'd reached into the bedside table and withdrawn the small metal blade there and now he perched with it in his hand, a comfort rather than a need, but with the start he was likely to have he needed comfort, he needed familiarity. 

Not too deep, he musn't get carried away, just a few sharp, fast gashes- Not enough, he needed more and even as his mind shouted at him to stop he kept going, deeper and deeper, more and more until his blood flowed thick and strong, too thick and the blade was sliding over his skin, unable to get any friction through the blood- 

A knock on the door. “Sebastian?”

He lept into the air, throwing the blade into the drawer and jumped into his jeans.

“Yeah?” He said breathlessly, adrenaline rushing through him.

Christian pushed the door open slightly. “You ready? Rocky wants to talk to you.”

“I'll be out in a minute.”

Christian nodded and shut the door, and Sebastian collapsed, shaking onto his bed. He peeled off his jeans and threw them onto the floor, walking into the bathroom to fetch the first aid kit. It was hard to walk with his legs shaking so badly but he managed it and bandaged himself up, annoyed at how out of hand he had got, but calmer than he was before. The duvet had a couple of spots of blood on, not so noticeable on the dark blue sheets, but he stripped the covers off and threw them into the laundry basket before re-dressing, taking a few deep breaths and leaving the room.


End file.
